Politics
by Lionfire42
Summary: Politics was something Optimus Prime was never good at. A one-shot. Part of the Cannon Fodder universe.


Politics was something Optimus Prime never really dealt with on Cybertron.

He was an archivist, not a politician. He lived a simple life, content with lists and data pads and dust.

Even when he'd been given the title of Prime, he had not grasped the concepts of politics. He had been overwhelmed with the honor that had gone not to Megatronus, the mighty warrior, but Orion Pax, the bookkeeper.

The war started soon after, and there wasn't time to think about politics. You were either with Megatron or against him, and to survive against him, you joined the Autobots. Enrollment wasn't the problem, it was keeping as many alive as possible.

No, it was only when he'd been exposed to the politics of humanity did Optimus really think about Cybertrons.

He'd hoped to get rid of the caste system, but it was in retrospect that Optimus saw how set in stone his future had been.

The Council was corrupt. It was something that many had mentioned, but he'd ignored, partly because it would mean that they hadn't really seen him as worthy, much as they had claimed.

Megatron would never have been a Prime, because he was the very symbol of all the bots the council kept under control. The gladiators, the poor, all festering in Kaon, fighting denta and servo to reach for the scraps of what those of Iacon and the other major cities possessed.

The council had never expected one such as Megatron to reach the level that he had, to gather the respect as he had. They were confused when their words and bribes had not worked as they usually did. They were scared, because others were starting to take notice of Megatron and his rousing words of rebellion, because he could not be silenced.

So when faced with a choice between the battle-hardened gladiator from the slums and a gentle, yet inexperienced librarian from respectable Iacon, there was no choice in who they would choose.

This understanding rocked Optimus to the core, and every time he clashed blades with his bitter foe, deep in the cool waters of his battle trance he felt the wisps of pity.

And when the Warlord finally fell, Optimus sincerely wished that the silver bot's troubled spark found its way to the Allspark and Primus's side.

But he was by no means a master of politics—no, humans had that honor.

When the war between flesh and metal started once more, when the entire galaxy seemed to descend upon the dusty armor of Unicron, and spilled beyond the government's carefully set borders, the politics began:

"You assured us they were gone!"

"Our troops are being slaughtered out there!"

"Surely Mr. Prime, you can see that Cybertronian weaponry is a must? A fair trade considering all that happened."

He was a warrior with wisdom best suited tolead his troops, not argue with small creatures in suits. They had figured out his weaknesses, and were all too happy to exploit them, taking apart his half-formed arguments with honeyed words. They prodded at his spark, attacking his methods and past deeds harshly one moment, then soothing him, placating his anger and grief the next.

Before he knew it, energon weaponry was on the market, being circulated throughout the world to troops like toys. And more kept coming.

"My work!" Ratchet raged, gesturing wildly at the all-too-familiar construction at the warehouse's far wall. Other constructs were being built in other warehouses across Fort Jasper, the military compound built over the nearly destroyed town.

"How dare they!" snarled Ratchet. "The ground-bridge was my invention. And here they are, blatantly building, without my permission, right in my face!"

"This warrants investigation," Optimus agreed, optic ridges narrowing.

"Already did," came a voice at their feet, and both looked down to see Jack Darby standing stiffly at attention, his cameo, deceptively-strong, plastic-like armor gleaming in the flood lights of the warehouse.

"Oh, really?" Ratchet inquired darkly, crossing his arms.

"Really." Jack hesitated. "You're not going to like this," he warned.

"I like it less when people don't get to the point."

Jack took the hint. "According to General Blyce, the fact that you logged the ground-bridge diagrams into the computers the government provided meant that, and I quote, 'the information was legally subject to national examination.'"

Ratchet had been rendered speechless.

And months later, with the energon incident:

"Whole veins!" complained Smokescreen, doorwings twitching in agitation. "They've been mass-producing energon this whole time?"

"Hundreds of missions!" Bulkhead growled. "All the energon spilled, all that energy and time, wasted!"

Major Sanchez sneered at them from his relatively safe position on stairs. "It was an untested method of accelerated crystal growth. By the time it was perfected you were all eagerly hightailing it home."

Bulkhead growled again, and slammed his fists together, taking a thunderous step towards the major. Sanchez's surrounding troops cocked their rifles in warning—well, almost all of them. Captain Jack Darby stood directly behind his superior and didn't move a muscle from his ridged stance. It was a silent show of support to those whom he saw as his heroes.

"Soundwave's army is getting stronger by the day. Their pouring in across the galaxy!" Sanchez, leaned closer, his sneer growing larger. "And instead of helping us counter-act them, you're whining about producing a material that _your_ lot forced onto _our_ planet?"

Bulkhead finally lost it, transforming with a roar and barreling towards the major. Jack leapt forwards but it was too late. Sanchez's soldier opened fire, raining crackling arcs of energon-laced electricity on the Wrecker. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it forced Bulkhead to revert back to his bipedal mode and stumble back shielding his face.

The soldiers kept firing, and the other Autobots unsheathed their weapons. Before a wave of blue plasma could join the fray, a voice roared out "Enough!"

Before Sanchez or the soldiers could react, a thick titanium Bo-staff swept the companies feet from under them in a single powerful move. Gunfire went wild, but Jackson wielded his weapon like it was as light as a twig, deflected stray shots in the floor and walls, the staff's thick rubber holds placed along its length neutralizing others.

"Darby!" Sanchez roared as he struggled to his feet, his face turning an unsightly shade of purple. "What are you doing?"

"Stopping this madness!" Jack stared at his superior boldly. "The Autobots have sacrificed too much already! You have no right to taunt them!"

"Why you-"

Jack held up a hand, stopping the Major's rant in its tracks. He stared at the man until Sanchez looked away, before turning to gaze at Bulkhead sternly.

"What has been done is wrong. But it _has_ been done and all we can do is live with it. Its water now; time to build the bridge."

Bulkhead growled and started to say something, but Arcee glared heatedly at him, and he fell into a sullen silence.

Jack turned back to the now-quiet group of soldiers. Addressing Sanchez he said, "I believe there were other matters in the base to attend to, Major." Gesturing at the door, he waved his hand forward. "After you, sir."

Major Sanchez glowered at him, before striding out the door. Jack had spared the Autobots an apologetic look before following.

To this day, his spark ached as he remembered those days. The days when Jackson defended them from persecution, not only from his superiors and comrades, but later the public himself. People began to equate him to a leash holder, the brave commander who fought hand to hand against the enemy's forces, and then came back to ensure the naughty Autobots didn't cause trouble.

Jack hated that of course. And he apologized often, as well as protested it in public. But Optimus assured him time and time again, it was not his fault. Jackson, as well as Miko and Rafael, had done more for them in a decade than Earth as a whole had done in half that.

And then Jack died. And Miko followed him soon after. And once more politics violently reared its ugly head.

"Darby was a hero, Prime." Sanchez sucked his cigar in clear delight, before exhaling a noxious cloud almost into Optimus's faceplate, as the titan knelt. They were in one the forbidden, underground bunkers, several football fields long, and several more deep.

"Here's the thing, Prime. Earth just lost a figure-head. Heroes like Darby were all that convinced people to join the army. But when heroes fall…" He shook his head. He shrugged away from the wall he leaned on. "Walk with me Prime."

They walked (Prime walked, Sanchez strode) past bustling lab workers to large lift about halfway in the complex. As they went along, Sanchez talked. "About five years ago, a breakthrough in experimental technology was discovered."

"Which?"

Sanchez smirked. "Cloning."

They reached the lift, and at an unseen signal, it began to descend. "At first we were limited to only animals," continued Sanchez. "But as time went on—and the moral debate grew less—we were able to go beyond the threshold of animals-"

They arrive in a large open space. Hundreds of lit blue tubes were embedded in the walls. Humans were floating inside, oxygen masks over their faces. Optimus frowned. The features of the people inside the tube looked familiar…

"-into the horizon of man," finished Sanchez, and Optimus realized with horror why the floating forms looked so familiar.

They all had Jackson's face.

Sanchez rapped on his leg to get the stunned Prime's attention. "Darby was a hero. And his final sacrifice will ensure we can keep doing what he always did—save lives."

Optimus shook his helm; this was wrong, all wrong. "No…"

Sanchez's words continued to assault his processor. "His DNA is remarkable stable. Anyone else and we wouldn't have been able to do this."

"NO!"

His cannons were unsheathed before he knew it. Instinct drove him destroy the creatures surrounding him; the mocking monstrosities that wore his deceased friend's face.

Sanchez was yelling at him now. "You think that'll do anything Prime? You fire and the world will see beyond your façade of wisdom. They'll see you and your ilk as murderers."

The instinct to protect his fallen charges' honor clashed with the instinct to protect his warriors.

Sanchez, seeing Optimus hesitate, barreled on with his argument. "With clones, we won't have to send men and women to their deaths anymore. Here's an army just waiting to awaken and march out on you command. The war will be over before we know it. Soundwave can draw in all the soldiers he wants, but we'll match them with twice that!" His voice became coy. "Of course, you supporting this project does lump your support with Darby. A fair trade, the public will see, in regards to all the praise he gave you."

Optimus saw then the horror of what was being shown to him. If he shut this down, he, as well as the other Autobots, would be villainized.

If he supported this, his warriors, especially Arcee, never forgive him.

"So Prime? When this is revealed to the world, when the first of the clones march out, what will you say. And where will you stand?"

The anger of a world vs. the betrayal of those he held dear.

A true Prime acted upon the wisdom of the Matrix. A true Prime did what had to be done to ensure the safety of the whole.

A true Prime knew the value of sacrifice.

A true Prime was not selfish.

And as a true Prime, the last Prime, he knew what he would have to do.

Earth now had a chance. Casualties would be reduced.

Arcee, the closest thing he had to a daughter, would never forgive him.

But a true Prime was a warrior, a tool of justice. Not a family bot.

Primes didn't have family.

Primes didn't have fun.

Primes didn't party.

Sanchez smiled around his cigar.

"I knew you'd see it my way, Prime."


End file.
